


Bad Luck

by QuietlyImplode



Series: Rescue Me [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Clint finds Natasha.. not in a good headspace.____“You’re not real.” She breathes. “You’re here to send me back.”“I don’t want to go back,” she finishes, opening her eyes as a tear slips out.“Natasha, can you hear me?” Clint ignores her; not quiet up to processing what she’s talking about and preferring to concentrate on the task at hand, at least she’s talking he supposes, “we’re getting in the shower. I’m taking your shirt off and your pants. You’re ok. It’s going to sting.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Rescue Me [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984783
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this week even is, but here, have some more fic.

“Natasha, fucking open the door. I know you’re in there. I’ve checked every other bolt hole, hotel and hideout, so open the fucking door.” Clint kicks the door with his foot.

“I’m coming in, so don’t you dare shoot.” He yells through the door.

Lock-picking it, he pokes his head in; “Nat? You here?”

He doesn’t see anything. He doesn’t hear anything. If she’s not here, he’s going to have to recruit the other avengers in finding her. He knows that if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be, but he’s really fucking concerned. It’s been 3 days since her great escape, she hadn’t answered the door and he’d just let her be, confident enough that she’d be ok. She hadn’t come out the next day and then by threat of taking apart Tony’s AI, Friday had admitted that Natasha had gone. It’d taken all day and night to get this point and he was running out of ideas of where she might’ve gone.

Clint rubs his eyes, tiredness feeling like an undertow ready to drag him out at any point.

He looks towards the toilet and his eyes catch red on the floor.

Blood red.

He follows it with his eyes to the lump on the bead. Moving quickly over to it, he’s shocked when a cat vacates the spot; spooked by his sudden movement.

“What the f-?”

The cat escapes out the open window, he assumes where Natasha came in through.

He focuses in on the lump. It’s Natasha shaped in size and instinctively he knows it’s her.

It’s also not moving.

He doesn’t want to touch her, that’s an easy way to get shot.. If she has her guns on her. He wants to get her attention, but wonders if she’s too far gone to even notice his presence.

“Nat? You awake?”

“Natasha?”

It’s not working. He’s going to have to touch her.

He climbs onto the bed slowly, feels her out.

There blood in random patches all over, and his concern grows deeper. He hopes it’s old wounds, just opened. Hopes she hasn’t done anything…

He finally uncovers her, she’s staring at him with unseeing eyes.

“Natasha?? Can you hear me?”

There’s no response.

He does what he’s done many times before. He picks her up and carries her to the shower. He probably should be calling an ambulance but that’s not how they do things, he wants the path of least resistance and if that’s fixing whatever this is here; he’s all for it.

He just hopes she hasn’t had any repeat seizures whilst they’ve been apart. If only he’d opened the door, been smarter, been one step ahead of her. He shakes his head and stops.

He dumps her in the corner of the bathroom, on top of some towels, properly looks at her. She’s still in the clothes she left in 3 days ago. A button up top, a hooded coat and loose pants. He wonders what ghosts she’s seen to keep her in this state.

He runs the shower hot, warming the room, then works on taking her arms out of her top; slowly, talking her through every step. She’s awake, eyes watching his hands.

Unbuttoning her top, Clint watches as she closes her eyes.

“You’re not real.” She breathes. “You’re here to send me back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” she finishes, opening her eyes as a tear slips out.

“Natasha, can you hear me?” Clint ignores her; not quiet up to processing what she’s talking about and preferring to concentrate on the task at hand, at least she’s talking he supposes, “we’re getting in the shower. I’m taking your shirt off and your pants. You’re ok. It’s going to sting.”

He manages to lean her forward so he can get her pants over her hips. He’s hoping she doesn’t freak out on him just yet. He’s brought her down to her underwear and he has to suck in a breath. There’s way more cuts on her than he remembers, her wrists and ankles are weeping, but it’s her neck that’s now mottled black, blue and green that truly looks painful. Sometimes he forgets, just how good she is at hiding pain. How truly ingrained it is, even in this state.

He throws the towels in the shower so she has something to sit on and then climbs in with her.

He watches her closely; she doesn’t even flinch as the water pounds into open wounds.

“Tasha?”

He tries to ground her, holding her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles repetitively.

She searches his face.

“Are you true?” She questions, giving him a bit of hope; “are you going to leave?”

Clint reaches out for her other hand, holding them both in his.

“No Natasha, I’m not leaving.”

Gentle touch, quiet words and the sounds of the shower, bring her back slowly.

Quietly, he turns the shower off. Despite potentially sleeping for the past three days, she looks so tired. He hasn’t stopped talking to her, telling her the goings on in the tower, things that happened whilst he was looking for her, people he met, things he saw. When he gets to the story about the cat jumping out at him, Natasha looks at him. Really looks at him.

“Liho.” She comments.

Bad luck? He translates in his head. No, that’s not right.

“Don’t wake likho while it is quiet,” she finishes.

“The cat?”

Natasha nods.

He helps her out of the shower, strips her out of her underwear pulling towels around her. He must remember to come back and do the washing so the bolt holes ready for when they need it again.

“Stay still for a sec,” he commands.

Grabbing her clothes from the other room, he gathers the quickly and moves back to her.

She’s standing now, never one to follow his orders, towels wrapped around her too thin body, he hands her her underwear silently, then some pants and a top.

“You ok to go back to the tower or do you want to stay here?” Some semblance of control is better than none.

“We can go back.” She whispers.”Are the others there?”

Clint nods. “They’re worried Nat.”

“I don’t want their worry. I don’t want to see them.” Pauses. Adds.

“Can we just stay here for a bit longer?”

“Of course.”

He leads her back to the bed. Makes her sit and redresses her wounds.

“Not much to be done about the others,” he comments lifting her top to reveal the knife marks. She looks through him.

“Yeah.”

“Here’s the plan.” He decides. “Food, water, crappy Tv. And then tomorrow we face the day. Deal?”

She nods in agreement, relief evident on her face. He wonders what she saw, what makes her wary of the others. He shoots a message off to Tony letting him know he’s got her. Gets a message back straight away with several emojis and a question- ok? He replies with a thumbs up. Not entirely sure it’s true but maybe they’ll get there.

Maybe tomorrow she really will be ready to face the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are *chefs kiss*.  
> AN - Likho or Liho supposedly means bad luck in modern Russian and the odd number in Polish (obsolete). Several proverbs utilize this term such as the Russian "Не буди лихо, пока оно тихо", meaning "Don't wake likho while it is quiet" - or in english "let the sleeping dogs lie". (Thanks google)


End file.
